


Shut Up And Dance

by TeenageCriminalMastermind



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Slice of Life, baby yoda and winta get up to some shenanigans, cara dune is your local lesbian icon, don't ask how where and why, omera is a badass with a heart of gold and adorable heart eyes, the mandalorian's enigmatic past and some angst is discussed, there will be jawas, there's gonna be some humour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21705841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeenageCriminalMastermind/pseuds/TeenageCriminalMastermind
Summary: Dyn Jarren is a famed Mandalorian SEAL, back from his current assignment with a child in tow. How? That’s a long story. But now that the man is back home, he finds new trouble in the form of the pretty widow that lives across the street.AKA: modern AU where ex-Marine sister helps her clueless Navy SEAL bro with the hopeless crush he has on area mom. Feat Baby Yoda, Winta, and many more.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian) & Omera (Star Wars), Cara Dune & Omera, Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Omera & Winta (Star Wars), The Mandalorian & Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV/Omera (Star Wars)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [joonfired](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joonfired/gifts).



> Thanks a ton to joonfired, who inspired me to go ahead and write this - I hope you and all the other readers like it :D

When Dyn left, all he had was a bag of essentials and a family photo on his person. 

Now, he’s walking into their family home with a baby strapped to his chest, praying to all the forces in the world that the child doesn’t wake up. It was quite a strange journey - a two year old aboard a SEAL helicopter, wrapped in a burlap sack and cradled in the hands of a man who was much more used to holding a blaster rifle in his hand.

Dyn closes the door with his shoulder, and the little weight against his chest emits a little cry. _Oh fuck_. He should’ve just put the baby down and then manually closed it quietly. Training however dictates that he secure all exits, especially when he is with someone as vulnerable as a child.

“Where is Cara?” he mutters, bouncing the toddler in order to make him go back to sleep. The child has different plans - the cry turns into a full-on wail, and Dyn wonders if his sister, by any strange miracle, has baby food at home. 

She doesn’t, but there is milk - _and that should be good enough, shouldn’t it? Babies drink milk all the time_ . While the child wails on the ground (he didn’t dare risk putting him on the sofa; what if he rolls off and breaks his head?), Dyn is busy washing the baby’s bottle and warming up the milk. _The armory incharge said to do a skin test_ , so he puts a few drops on his hand. It’s a little above lukewarm - ideal for the kid. 

“Here you go, you little womp rat.” One arm cradling the baby, the other holding the bottle, he slowly feeds the baby, intermittently putting the bottle down to gently pat the baby’s back. With the bottle finished, the baby emits a contented gurgle, smiling up at him - if there was anyone to see, he would proudly smile. The baby is, so he smiles back at the baby - _look at us, quite the team_. That moment of bliss is short-lived, however, as the baby emits another cry. It doesn’t take long for Dyn to realise what’s wrong this time - the smell coming from his diaper does that for him.

By the time the baby is fed, bathed, changed and put to bed on the sofa next to him (barricaded by the other sofa’s pillow, mind you), Dyn is too tired to do anything but just sit there listlessly. He’s just shut his eyes when the door swings open and he sits up, alert and tense to pounce. 

“Dude, it’s just me.” His sister stands in the doorway, smirking. “So, this is what parenting looks like.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” She still sticks out her hand as she walks over, and he pulls it in for their personal handshake. “He’s just fallen asleep, so try not to make much noise.”

“Noted. Wait, where’s the baby’s carrier?”

He rolls his eyes at her. “They don’t sell those at supplies on Afghan or US airbases.”

“I’ll get you one - you look like you barely have enough strength to lift a water bottle.”

“A full one.”

“An empty one.” It must have been quite a long nap, because when he woke up, there was a crib stuffed with blankets, toys, a handle carrier and a bag that looked visibly stuffed to the brim with clothes. 

“How long was I out?” 

“Maybe forty-five minutes - Winta took a while to decide what toys to give the little one.”

“Who’s Winta?” 

“A girl who I babysit sometimes - she and her mom live across the street.” _That explains the speed_. “I’m pretty sure they’ll be coming across soon, cookies in tow - the girl is quite excited to meet the kid.” Dyn sleepily rubbed his eyes with his sweater, taking the kid inside, where Cara was headed, crib being dragged along.

“Wait, where are you going?” 

“Figured you’d want to be in your old stomping grounds.” _Kriff no_ \- his teenage room was a baby minefield, and he hadn’t set up the guest room for himself. 

“Ha, ha.” He’d been rolling his eyes in dry sarcasm at people all his life, but Cara was the one who merited about half of them. He heard the squeak of rubber on wood, and walked out of the way as she hauled the wood crib into the guest room. It was set right next to his bed - _quite_ _appropriate,_ since babies need pretty much constant supervision. He lowered the kid onto the soft bedding, the child’s breath coming out in little puffs as he lay there, peacefully asleep. _Oh thank the force_. 

Dyn was halfway to the couch, mind on the room’s set-up vis a vis the baby and its needs, when he bumped into a soft, sweet smelling someone. “I’m so sorry.” She smiled gently at him, one hand extended while the other held a baby bag full of bottles. “I’m Omera - my daughter and I live across the street from your sister.” _Oh_. 

What Cara had failed to mention was that said mother smelled like citrus and flowers, and that she was very, very pretty.

* * *

**Dun dun DUN! No helmet reveal here, sorry :( But adorable shenanigans ensue *Taylor Swift’s “Gorgeous” starts playing***


	2. Chapter 2

His brain is still kinda frozen. 

“Hello?” Her voice brings him out of the mental fog he’s sort of wading through. 

“Sorry - tired.” She lets out a short laugh, the two of them still standing in the hallway. “It’s been quite a journey.” 

“I feel that. You’re a Mandalorian, right?”

“Yes.”

“Cara told me about your boy; Winta, my daughter -” she points to the little girl sitting at the counter eagerly chatting with Cara, “- and I just wanted to bring over some supplies we’d forgotten to give earlier. And the cookies too - Winta baked those and just wanted to bring them as a housewarming present for you and your child.” She smiles at him again, and his brain short-circuits. _It’s not been that long since I’ve been around a beautiful woman_. But he’s never been around her. 

“Thank you.” Her daughter makes her way to Omera, clutching at her mother’s shrug. The latter bends down as her daughter begins to whisper to her, standing up and giving him a small smile. 

“Winta is asking if she can see your boy.” 

“The child’s asleep.” The little girl takes a step forward towards him, looking up at his face with wide eyes. 

“I promise I won’t disturb him. Can I just see?” He doesn’t have the heart to refuse this adorable little girl’s request, so Dyn just nods and leads the way. 

The child is still sleeping, and Winta slips off her shoes, moving quietly towards the bed. “Hey little baby,” she whispers. Omera walks towards the crib and he follows suit, looking at the little bundle. Omera picks up the blanket draped over the side of the crib, slowly draping it over his sleeping form. 

“They tend to get a little cold at night through early morning - the blanket will make sure he’s comfortable.” He makes a mental note to do that later at night, should the kid wake up anytime before Dyn goes to bed. The trio make their way out of the room, where they find Cara having laid out the cookies on a plate, orange juice in a carafe next to it. 

“How’s the green bean?” She asks, breaking a cookie in half. 

“Sleeping,” he replies. He picks up one, the cookie still warm and the chocolate chips still melty. It reminds him of his mother. “It tastes really good.” Winta looks at him, beaming. 

“Thank you so much! It’s my first ever batch.” She turns to Cara, quickly downing a glass of juice. “Aunt Cara, can we please go to the garage? You were going to show me the engine today.” His sister looks at Omera, who nods. Her daughter picks up her shoes, the velcro straps crackling loudly as she puts them on. 

“Sure, let’s go! You’ll have to put on those gloves again, though. And it will be greasy.” 

“That’s okay!” She twirls around, hands in her pocket. “I’m wearing my painting clothes.” 

“Perfect, then.” The two walk out the main door, leaving him and Omera alone.

“So, what brings you back here to Sorgan?” That was a pretty good question. He could have returned to his apartment back in New Corellia, but there he would be alone with no assistance for a child. Besides, Sorgan was home - it was his place to rest. 

“I needed help with the child, and having my sister around would definitely lessen the load for me.” 

“Single parenting is a little difficult, but having a support system helps a lot. Winta was just a baby when her father died, so I had a lot of sleepless nights balancing work and taking care of her. Thankfully, my mother came through.” 

“I’m sorry about that.” She waves her hand, taking a drink of the orange juice.

“Death is just a natural part of life. It was unfortunate, yes, but he died serving his nation and left me with the greatest gift I could have asked for.” So her husband was in the forces. 

“That’s true.” Dyn is well acquainted with death, both personally and professionally; his biological parents died early during his life, and his and Cara’s parents (foster didn’t seem the right word for them - they truly were their parents) passed away just a few years ago. “I’m glad you are doing better.”

“Time heals things - it also helps to have a nice, close-knit community here in Sorgan.” She speaks of the place as if it is a chosen home, but this seems too early a point in time to broach this topic, so he lets it be. “I hope you and your boy find a happy life here.”

“We hope so too.” He isn’t hoping or planning on getting deployed anytime soon, mainly because he feels an obligation as a guardian to this child. What kind of father would he be, just leaving his child alone like this? Thankfully, even if he is required to go, Cara would be here to make sure he was well taken care of. And now, he can bet Omera would be kind enough to to the same.

“Does he have a name?” Thinking of that, the child doesn’t. Not one that he knows of - when he found the baby, he was crying and covered in soot, left alone in a warzone. There was no time to think of a name, and no one to ask. All that he had thought of was to get the child out of that hellscape, and somewhere safe. Here they were now, the little bean asleep peacefully in a place far away from violence and harm.

“Not yet.” 

“Hopefully you’ll be the one to name - Cara would probably name him anything between Blaze, Nakatomi, or William.” He’s surprised how unintrusive she is - most people would needle him for details and would be shocked and suspicious that a two year old child doesn’t have a name. 

“Two out of those three aren’t that bad.”

“Which one, William or Blaze?” 

He chuckles, crumbs of cookies coating his hands and the spot of the kitchen island near him. He wipes them away, reaching for the juice carafe. “Blaze.” 

“Thought so.” They sit in comfortable silence for a while, and he notices Omera drawing lazy figure eights on the counter, a look of calm on her face. Dyn is suddenly hyper aware of how tense and guarded his body language is - he knows he’s coming off as closed and it might be seen as hostile by some. It’s a reminder how his subconscious sometimes remains stuck in the battlefield, long after he is out of it. He loosens his shoulders a little, taking another bite of the cookie in his hand.

Cara and Winta return a while later, the faint smell of engine oil hitting his nose as a precursor. Dyn and Omera turn at the sound of the door opening, where both the older woman and the girl are stained with grease, carbon streaking Cara’s cheek. “Mom! Mom! Today I learned how to change the oil in a car and looked at an engine.” 

“I hope you had fun and can help me change the oil the next time we need to.” 

“I sure can!” Omera laughs, running her hand down Winta’s back. 

“Well, time for you to clean up and eat dinner.” The kid wrinkles her nose, her face lighting up after a beat. 

“Can I come and play with him later tomorrow?” 

“Of course,” he replies, smiling at the kid. It would be nice for the child to have some company, and Omera’s daughter would be delightful and nurturing company for him.

The pair make their way towards the door as Cara and Dyn walk with them. Omera stops for a moment, turning to look at him.

“I’m glad you chose to come back.” Looking at this wonderful, kind woman, so is he. 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews - good, bad and ugly - make me happy. Leave a comment below!


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